


Pretty Clock (Ugly Box)

by GhostHost



Series: Tis the Season [4]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Rung can, Secret Presents, Whirl can't wrap presents, beginning of a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 09:45:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13121160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: Whirl couldn’t wrap presents.Not because of the obvious reasons, but because he demanded perfection.(Well, and maybe because of the obvious reasons.)





	Pretty Clock (Ugly Box)

**Author's Note:**

> I s2g I've posted this part of this fic/series like, a bajillion times. But now its here permanently!
> 
> This is the final fic of Tis The Season! As with the others it can be read stand-alone, or within the series it doesn't matter.

Whirl couldn’t wrap presents.

Not because of the obvious reasons, but because he demanded  _ perfection.  _  (Well, and maybe because of the obvious reasons.) Presentation had been as much a part of his clock-making as the actual clocks had been. Mechs came for the pretty tickers, and came  _ back  _ because of the experience. 

_ ‘Never send a beautiful clock away in an ugly box.’  _

Whirl couldn’t remember who’d told him that. Not that it mattered, just that it applied.  If he was going to do this then he was going to do it  _ right. _

Even if it killed him-- and his neighbors --in the process. 

A knock at his door interrupted him. Whirl cursed as his near-perfect bow skittered out of his grasp. He threw the package down, rage blooming through his field.  Standing up sent his chair flying back-he ignored it to storm to the door. Fully intent on starting a fight with whatever fragger wanted him to quiet down before a comm stopped him in his tracks.   


It said nothing, but it never did. It was simply an announcement of a presence. It was from Rung, which meant he was the one behind the door-not that anyone else commed him like that.

Whirl had asked why he commed everyone when he knocked at doors once and had been too drunk at the time to remember the response, but it was-of course- linked to some  trippy, therapy reasoning. 

It also meant he couldn’t get mad.

Well, he could, but he’d been _ trying _ dammit! To improve! Or, at least, make it look like he had. He had his doubts about whether he was even capable of improving himself at this point. He didn’t need Rung to see what he’d no doubt think was a giant backstep in recovery though. Not, that Rung knew anymore where Whirl was in his recovery. Not since he’d gotten shot in the head and everyone banded together to tell Rung he was cared for and a dear friend and he’d had what he claimed was absolutely not a complete freakout (but totally was one, and Whirl would know. He had the market on total freakouts.) Ratchet had been forced to intervene, that’s how bad  _ that  _ had gotten-but the result was that Rung had transferred a handful of patients to another therapist’s care, so he could accept being friends with them instead and live all hunky-dory and shit. 

Whirl still wasn’t sure how he felt about being one of the patients that was transferred. That felt a bit too much like _ acceptance.  _ Like acknowledging the feelings he swore up and down he didn’t have. He couldn’t handle mushy shit on a good day let alone a regular one, so he didn’t. Handle it. 

He just did what he’d always done. Pushed the feelings aside, refused to acknowledge them and instead celebrated the fact that he now had a remote therapist who could not physically track him down. It’d been a few months and he still hadn’t met Rung’s replacement-which meant there was a good chance he’d been forgotten about (Talk about an accomplished life goal. No therapist meant nobody enforcing any of the mandated nonsense Ultra Magnus threw at him!)  

Of course, this all relied on Rung not noticing, because the observant little fucker would totally squeal and that’d put him right back at square one. 

Which, was why he couldn’t get mad.

Mostly. 

Taking a vent, Whirl composed himself and smacked the panel to open his door. 

“May I come in?” Rung asked, with a pleasant smile the second it slid open. His hands were clasped behind his back, his face tilted to look into Whirl’s, and Whirl heaved a dramatic sigh before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, sure.” He said, whirling and stalking back to his pile of presents. His optic caught the discarded bow and had what the humans called a lightbulb moment. 

He didn’t have hands. Not anymore, not ever again-but Rung had hands. Not having hands didn’t make Whirl weak-and he’d killed to prove that point. But it did make things difficult. If he was going to sit through what was likely another “be respectful of your neighbors” talk, he could at least get something out of it. So he stepped over the pile of stuff, threw his arms wide and announced; 

“If you’re gonna come in you gotta make yourself useful though.”

Rung didn’t even blink. “Certainly.” He said, stepping inside. He was the only mech Whirl had ever met who just blindly agreed to things without knowing what they were first-for all he knew Whirl had just came onto him or signed him up for three hours of cleaning windows or some shit. 

Damn doctor was too trusting.

“They send you in causa the noise?” Whirl asked, because Rung was usually the one they sent in these days, if Whirl was misbehaving. He had a harder time going off on Rung than he did someone like, say, Drift--and could you blame him? Rung was _ tiny _ and lightly armored! He couldn’t take a pinch let alone a punch and Whirl wasn’t about fighting the defenseless anyway. Not that he’d ever had the urge to fight Rung, but that was a thought that led to a bunch of other thoughts he didn’t want to think about and Whirl avoided the entire thing by focusing on shoving the shit on his desk to the pile on the floor. 

“Well yes and no.” Rung moved over to sit where Whirl indicated, taking in the spools of wrapping paper and piles of ruined ribbon. “I was asked to check up on you, but as a friend. As you know I cannot see you in a professional manner after-”

“-all of the shit that’s gone on this ship ever, yeah, I got it.” Whirl rolled his optic, throwing himself on the floor. “Prefer you as a friend anyway, doc.”

Rung’s face did The Thing, which was what Whirl was aiming for. The good doctor heard “friend” and his face automatically did all kinds of gymnastics, the kind his glasses totally did not cover up. The best part was Whirl didn’t think Rung knew he was doing it, which was why he called the orange mech a friend at every possible opportunity. Sure, it also made Whirl drastically uncomfortable, but the pay-off was worth it.

It helped that no one realized he was serious when he said it. Except, maybe Rung-but nah. Not even him.

No one was friends with the emperata freak. Fact of life, right there.    


“Where did you get these gifts?” Rung asked, sounding awed and Whirl tuned back into real life with a shake. The smaller mech was sitting cross legged across from Whirl, the mixed pile of presents and wrappings in between them. 

Rung reached out, picking a gem, holding it up to stare at in the light. It was clear the gifts weren’t just trinkets-clear in the way that the owner of most of the gifts could be easily identified. A new lens for Rewind. An upgrade kit for Tailgate’s board. Gifts that were meaningful. Literal treasures, a true-to-spark gift. 

Whirl had intended to have the gifts be anonymous. To have no one know they were from him. He also considered signing his name to _ every  _ gift-regardless of if they were one of _ his  _ or not-as a joke, but the wrapping part was taking too long so he’d dropped that idea. Having Rung in on it kinda made it-weird. Not bad-not like Whirl thought he should feel (vulnerable and open and showing  _ emotional attachments) - _ but Rung almost never made him feel bad. No matter what they were doing, what conversation they were having.

It’s what made the smaller mech so dangerous.

“Been picking ‘em up for a while.” Whirl said with a shrug. “Figured as soon as Swerve started in on the whole human thing he’d eventually stumbled over Christmas.” 

It said a lot about the ‘Copter that he’d spent this long purchasing gifts on a mere possibility. It was one of those parts of his personality he liked to camouflage-throw general bullshit at people until it made them forget he’d done anything nice in the first place. 

Some people however, didn’t have the good decency to be easily misled. Rung was definitely one of those people.

Whirl had a sinking feeling some days that Cyclonus was also, but multiple murder threats thankfully seemed to fix the issue. Whirl was keeping on optic on him though, he was getting awfully sentimental. 

“You gonna help me or not, Eyebrows?” Whirl said finally, as Rung went on to examine each of the unwrapped gifts-along with several of Whirl’s wrapped ones. 

Rung’s optics snapped back to him. “Of course!” He chirped, little smile enveloping his face. “What would you like to me do?” 

Whirl had to hide his triumph-lecture successfully redirected! Score!- and instead gave the smaller mech a crash course on proper present wrapping. Rung listened intently, as he always did, asking questions and starting eagerly. 

They developed a pattern pretty quick. Whirl did his best not to snap, but knew he did. He made Rung re-do a number of wrappings too-but the smaller bot never said a bad word about it. Just apologized and promised he’d do better.

“Yeah, that’s it! Just like that!” Whirl praised, when Rung held up the first present that was wrapped exactly how Whirl wanted it. Whirl’s field rocketed forward on it’s own, elation and pride all mixed together and Rung’s own clearly wasn’t expecting it because the resulting smile did weird things to Whirl’s spark. 

He tried to ignore it, cutting himself off with a forced cough, and redirected  Rung to the next present. Then the next, and the one after that, and so on until only one remained. 

“Oh, I almost didn’t see this one!” Rung said, reaching for it. It was the first box Whirl had completed, and it looked it-lacking the finesse of even the other one’s Whirl had done prior. 

“No!” Whirl shouted, claw smacking Rung’s hands away-only to jerk them back a second later.  “Shity sorry, I meant, um, no.” Whirl’s field flushed immediately, embarrassed by his reaction. “Didn’t mean to smack ya. Your hand okay?” He looked worried and the therapist did his best to give him a smile. 

“Of course.”Rung lied, trying to subtly rub his stinging hands. He didn’t hold it against Whirl-the ‘Copter was usually extremely observant of his own strength and careful of where he put his claws. If one were to look closely, as Rung did, they’d discover Whirl was hyper-aware of where his claws went, how the touched others. 

How others touched him.

He didn’t seem to care for most parts of his body, but emperata victims almost always became sensitive over the parts that were replaced and Whirl was no different. You didn’t touch his helm without injury, and he touched you entirely on his own terms.  To do otherwise could-and had-caused a fight, even if the other party had no idea that’s why the ‘copter had snapped. 

For him to smack Rung like that, without thinking? It was a serious improvement, and showed just how far their friendship had grown.  

Another leap forward, another reason Rung felt the things he did. 

Rung let his field brush against Whirl’s, tried to let him know that it was  _ okay.   _ Just a little tap, nothing to fret over. “May I ask why we are not re-wrapping that one?” He asked, trying to redirect the conversation. He knew Whirl might be touchy about it, judging by his reaction to Rung trying to touch them, but it was always worth asking. 

Whirl refused to look at him, suddenly involved in staring at his wall of clocks.

“It’s yours.” He said quietly, after a moment. 

That got raised eyebrows. “You--got one for me?” Rung  said, more out of surprise than anything. 

“Yeah.” Whirl’s voice was gruff, obviously trying to hide both his embarrassment. “Don’t read too much into it.” 

Rung’s attention went right back to the package.

“May I see it?” He asked. He doubted Whirl would say yes, but it was worth a shot. 

To his surprise, the ‘Copter agreed. 

The tag read ‘T _ o my great friend’  _  in elegant handwriting that must have taken Whirl hours to complete if not days. Rung recognized the writing as the kind he’d done as engravings on various chronoforms, the few Whirl had shown once when he’d had a few drinks and it was just the two of them in the bar.  

“Was gonna re-do it when you left.” Whirl mumbled, optic skittering away. 

“You can if you wish-I love it just as it is.” Crumpled orange paper and all. Rung turned it around in his hands, holding it like it was precious. 

“Whatever.” Whirl said, one claw scratching at the floor. 

Rung knew Whirl was uncomfortable, had gotten awful good at figuring out the ‘copter’s general body language as of late-even when it wasn’t this obvious. They’d been spending a lot of time together, going so far as to do things just the two of them. Whirl’s friendship had been the most surprising for Rung, but had quickly turned to his dearest. They got along rather well-and the longer they kept in contact, the more Whirl opened up. Let himself be seen, under the walls of violence and general asshattery. The more he did, the more Rung liked what he saw.

Whirl had a lot of surprising faucets to his personality. Things rather in line with Rung’s own worldview, even if it was skewed a little.

Spending more time also allowed him to do better to fix things, including Whirl’s refusal to admit softer feelings. So Rung gave him a mischievous smile. “Unless of course I can open it early?” He asked, tapping Whirl’s field playfully with his own.

That did it. Whirl laughed, shoulder’s slumping as his back relaxed. “Not a chance, Doc! You gotta be a good boy and wait like everybody else.” 

Rung heaved a faked, overdone sigh through his vents. “If I must.” He said mournfully, to Whirl chuckling. 

“That is all of the packages then.” Rung put his own down, on the pile of finished ones. “Though you haven’t signed any of them.” 

“Nah.  I wasn’t gonna to begin with but the Secret Santa gig made it extra easy. Now nobody's gonna feel weird about me gettin’ em shit. I can just claim it’s apart of their gift. Except you,” The ‘Copter’s head tilted, optic flickering. “You’re not gonna be weird about this are you?”

“Define weird.” Rung said playfully, as he eyed his gift. Whirl, like many patients, often associated the word “weird” with things like hugs, or touching, or gratitude. 

“You have to wait to throw it out until after I’m gone. Or drunk.” Whirl was trying to play it off as a joke-his field open and sarcastic but Rung took it seriously, making sure he had optic contact before he spoke. 

“I would never, Whirl.” The therapist said softly. 

“Really?” Whirl smirked at him, or at least, did his own version of smirking which was absolutely nothing physically. “Even if it was something awful?”

“I have seen the rest of your gifts. I already know whatever it is, it’s not awful.” Rung finally looked up from the gift, gave him a soft, bright smile.

It was almost painful to look at, so Whirl tried not to. Picked a spot on the wall to the left of Rung’s head and suddenly began very invested in it. 

“And I hope you will not be throwing away anything your Santa gets you.” Rung eased it back once more, into a joke. Whirl responded well to them, could even sometimes manage a more emotional response if he thought it wasn’t necessarily taken seriously. Or at least he could with Rung. They seemed to be coming more and more these days.

“Eh I’m not expecting to get anythin’. Mech who got me probably walked away.” Whirl said it with a laugh, a roll of the field showing he was fine. And he was. He was used to things like this. Being excluded. Being the last pick.

You wanted Whirl at your side for fights, and fights alone. Prolonged contact outside of a battle came with such issues like general annoyance, anger, and being talked into bad decisions.

He still wasn’t quite sure why Rung seemed to seek out his presence so much. Whirl would never question it, secretly never wanted it to end, to have that slight bit of normalcy torn from him-but that never stopped him from searching for the angle. 

Tailgate hung out with him because he was too naive to know better. Swerve used him as a bouncer sometimes (even if Whirl was one of the mechs thrown from the bar more often than not) and Rewind seemed to tolerate him purely through forced, prolonged contact and a refusal to abandon the bar. Everyone else let Whirl hang because one of those three did. 

Everyone except Rung. The therapist wasn’t the type to have an angle, but Whirl looked anyway. Because there was something. Something the mech was getting out of this. 

Whirl just couldn’t see it yet. 

“Perhaps the person who picked you spent a good amount of time on you? Certainly not the amount of time you might have spent on them,” Rung eyed the pile pointedly, “but they likely took their time.” 

“Nah eyebrows, I think we both know that ain’t true.”

Rung reached over bravely, squeezing a claw. Whirl froze, looking at it, then slowly, drug his gaze up, to Rung’s face.

“Don’t discount them so quickly Whirl. Let the universe surprise you.” Rung said it gently. Whirl wanted to snort, wanted to snap that the universe had surprised him  _ enough _ thanks, and with things he never wanted to relive but there was something in the therapist's face, his field…

Whirl couldn’t tell him no.

So he made a few weird noises instead, shrugging his shoulders and pointedly flipping the conversation over to some crude thing Rodimus had said at the bar.

He left Rung’s hand were it was though. Couldn’t bring himself to disturb it. It was dangerous to leave it there- the longer Whirl felt it the longer he became convinced Rung’s hand was meant to be there, clasped around his, and that was a road he _ really  _ didn’t need to go down thanks. A train of thought he’d successfully been avoiding all night. 

Except Rung never let go, and the train took off with him on it.    
  


xXx

Whirl watched it all go down with a hidden bit of happiness. His plan went off without a hitch-the extra presents making their way seamlessly to their intended mechs. He saw the confusion on their Santa’s faces, the mechs claiming they didn’t send certain parts of the gift when the names were revealed. It quickly became a mystery, but with so many undercurrents of other things running about under the exchange, no one could bring more than a few seconds thought for it. 

They were all too wrapped up in the  _ other  _ reveals of the night.  

“ You’ll have to forgive me,” Rung said, the mech appearing suddenly at his side. “But I decide not to give this to you anonymously.” He held out a package proudly, the gift wrapped just as Whirl had trained him to.

“I know it is nothing compared to the effort you went through with all of ours, but I hope you find it satisfactory.” Rung said, with a small smile.

Whirl’s optic had blown wide, staring at the small box. He took it carefully, then tore into it. Tools for watch-making, a small bit of polish, and a new spiked collar for his holo-avatar and sure, it wasn’t to the level of gifts he’d given out  but it was something  _ clearly  _ given with a lot of thought-something  _ Rung _ had given him-

Whirl didn’t know if he could handle it.

“Thanks.” He said, and they both pretended his vocalizer wasn’t choked. “I-..thanks.” 

“There is more.” Rung said with a smile.

Whirl looked at him like he was unscrewed. ‘What?”

“We have been spending more time together, and I want to start off by saying I do not wish to jeopardize that. But the more we do, the more things have been made a little--clearer to me.  I enjoy many aspects of you Whirl, from your personality down to how rather charming you can be when you put your processor to it. I understand by doing this that I am taking a risk-but I have decided that risk is worth it.”

“You can interrupt this as you wish. If you never want to discuss it after this that is fine. If you wish to be removed from me entirely, that is also fine.” Rung continued. 

Which was something that would freak Whirl out, if it wasn’t  _ Rung  _ saying it. Warnings like that came before pretty much everything these days, Rung was big on shit like “communicating.” 

“You can also take it as it is intended, which is, romantically.” The therapist was looking at him, and Whirl nodded, wanting him to get to the point. 

_ Sure, sure, romantic--wait,  _ what?

“Uh?” Whirl said, because his processor was too busy trying to figure  how “romantic” fit into the topic of this discussion to make words. (Certainly Rung hadn’t meant it like--like with  _ him _ . No one was romantic with Whirl, that was all kinds of crazy talk--and not Whirl’s mostly faked kind of crazy talk but  _ legitimate  _ crazy and--) 

Rung took a deep vent, seeming to steal himself, glanced once around the bar, judged everyone to be occupied and leaned over the table. 

“You are welcome for the gift.” He said softly, and matched it with a chaste kiss. 

Whirl’s field _ bloomed.  _


End file.
